Seraphine's POV
At noon, the rhythm of the corridor changed. The footsteps became crisper; the keys no longer rattled unnecessarily. The lamp smoke drifted away from the cell. The iron gripped my wrists coldly, and the bandage held my abdomen together. The wolf inside me watched, curled up.
The scarred guard and the young guard stopped at the bars first, followed by the cloaked man, and finally He—the King. He didn't need to introduce himself; even the air around him fell silent.
“Open it,” he commanded.
The bars yielded; the smell of iron bit into me. The young man pulled in a chair. The King sat down as if the cell had always belonged to him.
“Stand up,” he ordered.
I tried. The scarred man started to move, but a single glance from the King froze him. Eventually, I stood up, leanin
